Four years ago, I was in this gorgeous country celebrating life and, at the time, love. It was raining the day I kissed the Blarney Stone which only added to the ambiance of the castle grounds. I repressed whatever wishes I made exploring the castle that day. Even though I bet those wishes had to do with love and that love didn't work out, I still really feel effected by magic from that trip.
This isn't your love letter. This isn't one of the many that I had written when we were young and were discovering love for the first time with each other. Though they were beautiful, and so were we, we spoiled their meaning when we held them against each other, tore them to pieces, and failed to let them remain what they truly were; pieces of paper that told the story of who we were... not who we would forever be.
That's why despite those magic moments, they turned to dust when we, or rather I, wanted to grow, heal, and change. I truly believed that despite how real and wonderful the love I had for you was, that I was capable of something deeper still. That when I had healed my brokenness, everything in life would flourish including my love for you. I realize now why that seemed I was unsatisfied. Rather I was ambitious. Naturally, that's why it was devastating when things fell apart. Naturally, I raged in pain. I medicated and self-medicated until loving you felt unnatural.
Whatever reminders are left of the life I had with you, illustrate nothing more than my desire for the next adventure I yearn to have. Mementos, not only from times I enjoyed with you, but with others that also made me feel whole. They remind me that there are so many new places to go and new faces to meet, even when you grow out of those people and places. Even when they outgrow you.
If it's love you're searching for, there's plenty of that out yonder too. I may wear my heart on my sleeve, but I've always loved the advice that you can't go searching for what's meant to find you.
Walking through the woods in misty, mossy, moist Ireland I went searching for a love story. When I look back on it now, I recall discovering what was meant to find me instead; magic; the feeling of being alive. The fact that you were there, and I was searching for love, part of what was supposed to be our story, doesn't spoil what I went into the forest and found.
When I wasn't searching to find myself, in my pain, in my wandering, in my wondering, when I was losing my mind it led to the freeing of my soul. Whether or not I'll be with a loved one, be alone, or be with strangers, those are the adventures I yearn for. Whatever remains of the pieces of paper which tell the story of who we were, no longer holds the ghost of what we'd hoped our story would be.
"Think of that and of me when you stand in the rain." -The Haunting of Hill House
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